


reMinder

by 8ucky8arnes



Series: fragMents [8]
Category: The Gifted (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Season 2 spoilers, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 13:27:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16833529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8ucky8arnes/pseuds/8ucky8arnes
Summary: A part of Clarice wanted to retreat, to put distance between her and John while another wanted to go back out and shake him, lash out at him but all she did was lay on her side and run a soothing hand through Zingo’s fur, listening to the faint sound of clicking from the keyboard in the other room.“I’m sorry, but the last time I checked, you were freakishly strong, but you are not immortal.”“I never said I was.”“Then stop acting like it.”





	reMinder

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for how long this part took, but it's extra long so I hope that makes up for it!

Considering she’d spent so much of her life alone, the silence of their shared apartment was stifling…suffocating even. A part of Clarice wanted to retreat, to put distance between her and John while another wanted to go back out and shake him, lash out at him but all she did was lay on her side and run a soothing hand through Zingo’s fur, listening to the faint sound of clicking from the keyboard in the other room.

_“I’m sorry, but the last time I checked, you were freakishly strong, but you are not immortal.”_

_“I never said I was.”_

_“Then stop acting like it.”_

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push back the tears but only seeing a body twisted beyond recognition. She held onto Zingo as her stomach rolled, her head pounding at the memory of the screwy shimmering, twisted mess that Rebecca’s abilities left behind…

Clarice let out a shuddering breath.

_“You guys should just give up, you don’t know what you’re up against.”_

The girl who could _turn a person inside out_ had told them to stop, to give up and it made Clarice wonder just who this Reeva Payge person was to inspire that fear. She’d wanted to ask Marcos after the woman had chewed him up and spit him out, but the burns up to his elbow told her enough at the time.

What could she do to them? _To John?_

Not that any answer would change John’s decision to charge ahead. Reeva may very well be able to kill him by turning his own mutation against him like Marcos, overwhelming his senses and turning everything up to eleven until his body simply couldn’t take it anymore… He wouldn’t stop until he ended up six feet under.

It was that thought almost had her screaming.

Because of course, the first person she really connected with…really _loved_ in her life would end up leaving her behind in the most final of ways. She couldn’t bear the thought of being alone again in a world on fire, in world of complete and utter chaos. If he died, there would be nothing keeping her grounded. She’d be untethered… _lost_.

She’d retreat underground…into the dark. And she wasn’t sure she’d come back up.

Why couldn’t he see that?

Why didn’t he realize that as strong as he was, he couldn’t carry the world on his shoulders?

No one could. It wasn’t feasible. It wasn’t sensible. It was suicidal.

Because eventually the weight would become too much and it would shatter him and she didn’t want to be around to see it but here she was, watching the fissures spreading through him: the bruised knuckles, the bullets in his chest, the burns covering his hands…

The signs were there and she was helpless to stop it, to curb it even.

Clarice was no more than a shadow in his tunnel-vision and it killed her that for all his skills in focus and observation that he couldn’t _see_ her…couldn’t _hear_ her words at all. She felt like a ghost screaming at a brick wall she couldn’t pass through and she couldn’t help wonder what horrible thing would have to happen for him to actually listen.

How much longer could she keep him from stepping over that precipice before she finally let him go? She wasn’t sure she had the strength to hang onto him much longer, to run right alongside him into one suicide mission after another as a reminder that he didn’t have to do this along... Clarice felt as though she were running on reserves, her mind and body exhausted with the daily battle against a world that had abandoned her the day she was born.

Just the thought sent a wave of drowsiness washing over her, jaw cracking as she yawned.

The sound of typing hadn’t ceased.

She looked down at Zingo, “You’ll let me know if he leaves, won’t you?”

The dog pressed her wet nose into Clarice’s hand and whined.

“I know, girl.” She closed her eyes and burrowed herself into the pillow. “I know.”

She was surprised by how quickly she fell asleep.

…

_She was in the alley again. Alone._

_This wasn’t right…where was he?_

_Clarice stumbled forward, the air around filled with the tears and twists of energy that Rebecca’s abilities left behind. Her head pounded and her stomach lurched as she braced herself against a wall, “John!”_

_She blinked, trying to clear the haze._

_“I told you guys to let me go…you should’ve listened.”_

_“Rebecca?” Clarice spun, regretting it almost immediately as the bile rose in her throat. She couldn’t see even the blurred outlines of the girl…or John. God, she could use his steadying hand right now… “Where are you? Where’s John?.”_

_She was spun around again, and this time Clarice fell to knees and retched._

_Studded combat boots encroached upon her vision, Rebecca crouching when Clarice lifted her head. Dark eyes glittered with amusement as she cocked her head to the side, mouth slowly curling into a cold smile, “Oh, I think you know what happened.”_

_“No…”_

_Clarice had barely pushed herself up before she was whipped around again, stumbling forward into brick wall. Everything inside here went cold at the familiar pile of black trash bags, “No…it can’t be…”_

_“He was a little more difficult to twist than most…”_

_Her nails dug into her palms, “You’re lying!”_

_Rebecca motioned to the trash bags, “Why don’t you see for yourself?”_

_Her hand trembled as she reached out to pick up the bag, which was dropped almost instantly._

_Even as twisted as the body was, she recognized it immediately by the tattoos on the brown skin of the contorted arms, the beaded bracelet on his wrist, those beautiful brown eyes... The hand nearest her twitched as she fell to the ground and she reached for it._

_“No…nononono…”_

_“Not so immortal now is he?”_

Her eyes snapped open, a scream tearing itself from her throat as she sat bolt upright. She yanked at the sheets tangled around her legs desperately, her breathing growing harsher with every failed attempt.

John was suddenly there, “Hey, Clarice it’s me…it’s just me.”

She met his gaze, but all she saw was his mangled body laying discarded in the trash with eyes staring sightlessly up at the sky. Her stomach lurched violently and she pushed past him, very nearly crashing to floor as she ran across the hall in time to throw up in the toilet.

A gentle hand rested between her shoulder blades, “Clarice…”

She flinched back from his touch, trying to breathe, “Don’t…don’t touch me. I can’t…”

“Hey. It’s okay.” He kept back, hands held up in a placating gesture. “It’s okay.”

Clarice shook her head, leaning back against the wall, “No…no it’s not.”

“Clarice…”

“No!” She snapped, “No, it’s not…you don’t get it!”

He looked somewhat surprised by the outburst, eyes widening just slightly.

“You don’t get to tell me everything’s fine…that’s everything’s okay!” Her eyes burned with tears, “Not when you continue to show so little regard for your life, charging into one suicidal situation after another and I…I can’t watch you kill yourself, John. I just _can’t_.”

Something flashed through his eyes, but he remained silent.

Her voice cracked, the tears finally breaking free, “I couldn’t bear it if I lost you too.”

John pressed his lips into a thin line before grabbing a washcloth and running it under the water and he held it out, “May I?”

She nodded, taking it from him as he flushed the toilet and joined her on the floor. Clarice might’ve smiled at the fact that he was still keeping his distance, but she took the washcloth and wiped at her mouth before tossing it into the bath behind her.

She grimaced at the sound it made, running a hand through sweaty hair. If she wasn’t still reeling, she would’ve definitely been more embarrassed by their current predicament. Instead she leaned her head back with a groan, “God, I must look like crap.”

One side of his mouth lifted just barely, “You look beautiful.”

Clarice snorted, “Flattery will get you nowhere, soldier.”

He dropped his head, hair falling back in face.

She peered through the curtain and saw the guilt in his eyes as he stared at the tile.

Thirty seconds passed in silence.

Clarice pursed her lips before letting out a long sigh, “I’m sorry for snapping at you.” 

“No, you’re not…” He looked up, holding her in his stare, “and that’s fine. I deserve it.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s warranted. I mean, we _are_ adults.” She glanced around the bathroom, peeking out into the hallway of their shared apartment, before holding out a hand with a small smile, “Maybe we should start acting like it.”

He took her hand, fingers sliding through hers.

She rested her head on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Clarice.” He squeezed her hand, “I never wanted to scare you.”

“I know.” She swallowed, vision blurring “I know you didn’t but all this…this throwing yourself in the line of fire over and over and over again…that scares me. It scares me because you _know_ you’re not invincible. You _know_ that you can get hurt and you do it anyways. It feels like you don’t care what it will do to me if you…”

“Clarice…” his other hand turned her face up, “Hey, look at me.”

She leaned into his touch, lifting her gaze.

“I know it may seem like that sometimes, but I _do_ care. I care more than you could _possibly_ imagine.” His eyes burned with such intensity, thumb brushing over her markings. “You are so precious to me. I would do anything… _anything_ to ensure the lives of those I care for…those that I love.”

Her heart skipped a beat, “At the cost of your own?”

He frowned.

_God_ , she wanted to hit him sometimes, “You have the worst tunnel vision.”

John almost smiled, “The irony isn’t lost on me.”

“You…” She shoved at his chest and turning her face away, voice cracking as the tears broke free, “No, you _don’t_ get to do that. You don’t get to joke and smile about-about running into situations blindly, alright? Not right now!”

“I didn’t…” His eyes slipping closed as he rested his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry.”

She wanted to lean forward, to close the distance between them but she was stopped by the arrival of Zingo. The dog slinked into the bathroom and pressed her head into her hip, Clarice smiling as she leaned back and stretched out her legs to scratch her ears. “We didn’t forget you, Zing.”

The dog laid her head on Clarice’s thighs.

She felt his eyes on them and looked up.

John was watching the whole interaction with a strangely calm expression. The hardness that had constantly been present the last few weeks had softened. There was no furrowed brows or clenched jaw, no blind desperation or anger in his eyes.

He seemed…at peace.

She smiled and went to push herself up, Zingo and John following. “Both of you, out.”

“Clarice…”

“Out.”

She very nearly laughed at the _two_ sets of puppy dog eyes, not surprised when the _actual_ dog left without pause. “That means you too. I need to brush my teeth and take a shower. I don’t need an audience for either of those.”

John cocked his head as he walked forward, hands resting on her waist and pulling her closer.

Clarice laughed as she flattened her hands on his chest, his lips brushing her cheek, “John…”

His lips curled against her skin, moving along her jaw, “Hmm?”

She swallowed, breathless as she pushed back, “You. Leave. Now.”

He groaned mournfully before pressed a long, lingering kiss to her racing pulse and stepping away with a mischievous light in his eyes and a boyish, shit-eating grin, “Yes, Ma’am.”

Clarice rolled her eyes with a smile, “Alright soldier, shoo.”

Her expression fell once the door shut behind him, hands shaking as she quickly rinsed her mouth, stripped, and turned the shower on as hot as it would go. She closed her eyes as the water ran down her body, trying to get her breathing back under control.

_“He was a little more difficult to twist than most…”_

She braced herself against the tile, a hand over her mouth.

_“Not so immortal now is he?”_

No, she was _not_ going to throw up again. The last thing she needed was John barging into the bathroom at the first sign of trouble and Clarice knew he would ask what the nightmare was about then and she didn’t think she could actually verbalize it…

Tears mingled with the water running down her face and she shook her head.

She needed to breathe.

The nightmare was just that. A nightmare.

John was right down the hall. He was whole. He was _alive_.

_Unless the idiot tried running off half-cocked again…_

God, she needed a drink.

Maybe they had a beer left in the fridge…

“Clarice, you good?”

She ran a hand down her face, “Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute.”

Clarice finished the shower as quickly as she could, squeezing that water from her hair and wrapping a towel around herself before going to stand in front of the mirror. She frowned at the clear redness of her eyes, but she didn’t bother hiding it.

She walked to their bedroom, pulling on a pair of sleep shorts and one John’s shirts before walking down the hallway to find John standing in the middle of the kitchen with that familiar distant focus in his eyes.

Clarice came to stand at his side, “John?”

He blinked, his eyes slipping closed with a pained sigh.

“John, what is it?”

“Open a portal to Marcos’ apartment?”

She frowned, but did just that and sucked in a sharp breath at the mess she saw.

“Watch out for glass.” He said absently as he walked toward the front door.

Clarice nodded as she followed him through the portal, the mask she’d been trying to construct for John crumbled almost instantly at the destroyed apartment. She didn’t need John’s tracking to know what had happened…

He slammed his palm in the door, “ _Damnit_.”

She jumped, spinning around, “John…”

He ran a hand down his face, grinding his teeth, “She was here. She was here and I…” he slammed the door again, “I _missed_ her…”

“Who?”

“Lorna…and the baby.”

She looked around the apartment again, the damage showing itself in a new horrible light. Clarice tiptoed around the broken shards on the floor, seating herself on the armrest of the couch and watching as John walked around the entire apartment in a haze, running his hands along the walls and the furniture and the floor…

She didn’t know what to do or what to say, if there was anything to say.

What she did know was that she was angry at Lorna for doing this to Marcos… _again_.

For handing him his daughter and taking her away… _again._

For giving John hope before smashing it… _again._

_How could she not see the damage she was doing to them?_

She looked up from her lap when John passed by the couch and Clarice could almost see the pain the internal conflict was causing him as paced back and forth. He wanted to find Marcos, but he also wanted to track down Lorna and their daughter. But he couldn’t do both.

“He’s drunk and angry and with the rioting…”

“John…”

“But Lorna…the trail only a few hours old…”

“John!”

He turned to her, stopping in his tracks.

“You can’t do both.”

“You think I don’t know that!”

Clarice was only slightly startled by the outburst, “You need to _think_ , John, instead of yelling at me.” She stood, reaching out to grab his wrists. “Think of them, alright. Of the two, who is in more danger?”

“I _can’t_ let her go again, Clarice. She’s so close…”

“I know you love her, but you need to face the fact that she left, John. Lorna _left_.” She softened her voice, dropping his wrists to turn his face towards her, “You need to let her go…she made her choice the second she decided to tear apart that plane. I don’t think there’s anything you can do at this point that going to change her mind.”

His eyes were bright with tears.

“But Marcos…he’s in pain. He’s…”

“He’ll never forgive me for letting her go.”

She swallowed, the pain in his voice and the tears nearly undoing her. God. She hated seeing him like this…“If Marco had wanted you to track her, don’t you think he would’ve actually told you she was here…or called you?”

“Clarice…”

“John, we need to find Marcos alright?” She tightened her hold when his tears dripped onto her hands. “We can’t let anyone else get hurt, John …”

He clenched his jaw and nodded, pulling away from her. “Yeah, alright.”

She frowned, “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No…I…” He ran a hand down his face, “I can’t be worrying about you with the riots…”

“No, it’s alright. I get it, John.” She reached out to squeeze his hand, “Just find him, okay?”

He looked down at their hands, “You’ll be back in the apartment?”

“Yeah. You don’t need to worry about me…I won’t be going anywhere.”

John nodded, not saying anything more before walking out, the glass crunching under his boots.

Clarice portaled back to the apartment, going straight to fridge and grabbing a beer. She sank down into the couch with her legs curled underneath her. She cracked open the bottle, draining half of it before she took a breath.

Zingo came in not soon after, jumping up into the couch and resting her head on her knee.

Clarice finished off the beer, pausing as she reached for another.

_No..._ The last thing John needed was for her to be drunk when he came back with Marcos. No, what he needed was for her to be calm and collected and ready for whatever came through the door.

She walked back to the bathroom, running a comb through her hair before tying it back in a messy bun at the base of her neck and tidying up the apartment the best she could: doing the few dishes still in the sink, wiping down the counters, refolding the blanket on the back of the couch…

It couldn’t have been more than half an hour later before the front door opened, Marcos leaning heavily on John and slurring in an indecipherable mess of English and Spanish as he was lowered onto the couch.

That’s when she saw the blood caked on one side of his face, “Jesus, what the hell…?”

Clarice to look at John, frowning when she saw the burns on his skin, “John…”

“I’ll be fine, Clarice. Just go get the first aid kit. _Now_.”

She pursed her lips, but did just that and watched John clean away the luminescent blood as it trickled down Marcos’ face with only small winces as it dripped onto his skin. “What the hell happened, John? Where did you find him?”

“He picked a fight with a group of damn Purifiers.”

Clarice looked at Marcos incredulously, “Seriously?”

“It’s fine. I handled it.”

She blinked at the cold edge to his voice, but said nothing. “What do you need me to do?”

“Grab a clean change of clothes from his apartment and a pillow.”

Normally, being ordered around might’ve irritated her on any other occasion, but Clarice figured John would appreciate someone listening to him right now. So she nodded and grabbed what he asked for (with an extra shirt for John), waiting outside the bathroom while John helped Marcos into the shower.

She winced at the sound of splashing and struggling, holding the clothes through the cracked door. She stepped back as the two stumbled back through not ten minutes later, not commenting on John’s drenched state as they walked back to the couch.

She helped Marcos lay down on the couch, draping the blanket over him.

“ _Mi amor, mi hija_.” He murmured into the blanket, “She’s gone. _Mi Aurora_ …she’s gone.”

Clarice blinked back tears, not really needing a translation, looking over as movement caught her eye. She grimaced at the red, peeling burns covering one side of John’s neck and shoulder and chest when he finally pulled off his ruined shirt. “How are you feeling?”

He threw the shirt in the trash before pulling on another. “Not the first time he’s bled on me.”

She huffed out a breath, “So you’re fine is what you’re telling me?”

“I’ll heal.”

Clarice frowned, looking over at Marcos, “And him?”

“He’ll have a hangover in the morning and some bruised ribs…”

She sighed, “John, you know that’s not what I meant.”

He pinched the bridge of nose, “Well then, _I don’t know_ , Clarice.”

“Okay.” She backed off on the questions, sensing his patience was at its end “Okay, then we’ll get some rest and we’ll figure it out in the morning alright? Come to bed.”

“I don’t think I could sleep with all the…” he motioned to the window.

“Just lay with me then.” Clarice held out a hand, “You don’t have to sleep.”

He looked back at Marcos, expression shifting. “I don’t want to…”

“He’s not going anywhere, alright? And besides, you’ll be able to hear him if he does.”

John turned to her, staring at her for a long moment before sighing. “Okay…okay.”

She waited until he slowly lowered himself into the bed, curling onto his side and Clarice was hit with horrible déjà vu as she remembered that day he spoke of his past with Evangeline: the wetness in his eyes and his trembling hands…

She lay facing him, brushing back the damp strand of hair.

He closed his eyes at her touch.

Neither of them slept the rest of the night.


End file.
